Sunghoon’s penthouse is all glass and shadows, the city’s skyline glittering like a knife’s edge below. He pours champagne, his gaze predatory as he hands you a flute. “To your first campaign,” he purrs. “You’ll be unforgettable.”

You clink his glass, fingers trembling on purpose. “I-I still don’t understand why you chose me,” you whisper, eyes downcast. “I’m not like the others.”

He steps closer, cufflinks glinting as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s why you’re perfect. They were glass. You’re…” His thumb brushes your lip. “Porcelain. Delicate. But breakable.”

You let a tear fall, savoring the way his breath hitches. “Sometimes I think… you want to break me.”

He freezes. For a heartbeat, his mask slips—panic. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, turning away. “I invest too much in you to be careless.”

You slide between him and the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights haloing you like a saint. “Then why did you delete my name from the Vogue interview today?” Your voice stays soft, wounded. “Heeseung told me. Were you… ashamed of me?”

Sunghoon’s glass cracks in his grip. “Heeseung talks too much,” he hisses, but you see it—the flicker of fear. You press closer, your lips grazing his jaw.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, hands flattening against his chest. “I know you’re scared I’ll leave. But I’d never abandon you.” You pull back, letting him see the fake, fanatical devotion in your eyes—a mirror of his own sickness. “I’m yours.”

He kisses you violently, desperation masquerading as control. You kiss back harder, biting his lip until he gasps. When he reaches for your zipper, you stop him, smiling tearfully. “Not yet. I want it to be real. Please."

He stares at you, unmoored. You’ve weaponized his own script—the push and pull, the dizzying guilt—and now he’s drowning in it. “You’re… exhausting,” he growls, but his hands cradle your face like you’re holy.